Pipe Dreams
by a pretty little liar
Summary: So maybe she should have thought twice about taking the pictures. She sure as hell wishes she hadn't sent them. But she did, and she hardly thinks they're worth Troy trying to drown himself in the swell. AU.


A/N: AU. Very AU. Mm, I was listening to "Dirty Picture" by Taio Cruz ft. Ke$ha, while reading an article about the possibility of Zanessa's return. This story was accumulated by a variety of Zanessa's papo shots found throughout Google. And also the realization that people aren't who they seem to be, particularly once innocent little brothers.

_**WARNING: **_Mature themes. Sexual encounters are included, and drug use is also weaved throughout the story. I would say this is for mature readers but, you do whatever you want.

Disclaimer: Don't own, not making a profit.

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**Pipe Dreams**

...

_There are certain things in life that you just can't take back. Like your first kiss, your virginity, and most importantly, those dirty pictures you took that just went viral._

...

She wonders if maybe she was a dominatrix in her former life.

Or maybe a vixen, with no qualms about the upset with the male population. Maybe she was a fembot, or some other crazy mythical super-heroine, who didn't care that she was running around in the barely nudes, with a quirky little spandex number (which really didn't do a great job of covering up anything at all), because she has no idea what has gotten into her. She's turned into a prowess, and she's kinda horrified.

And yet, in some distorted way, she kind of likes it.

Naturally, she hadn't meant for the pictures to come out, but there she is, clad in only a golden gypsy skirt, and just _thisclose _to spread-eagle on her boyfriend's laptop screen. She glances up at him, and stares hard, and she's really freaking proud of herself for not shrinking away. He's pissed, and his bright blue eyes are narrowed and his lips are pursed into a dangerous frown. He's got a finger pointed straight at the screen, but all she sees is the length of his finger. She thinks that if she cut off one of her index fingers and glued it to the other index finger, his single digit would still be longer.

"What the hell?" he questions, and she bites her bottom lip because she really wants to point out that his fingers are just ridiculous. She's able to assert some self control though, and manages to avoid commenting on his body parts, especially considering why he's pissed at her.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she says, soundly. He's not going to intimidate her, because she's nineteen years old; she can do whatever the hell she wants to do with her body. This seems to be the wrong answer though, because before she knows it, he's right up in her face. So close, that she begins counting the freckles that line the ridges of his nose. It's a lot straighter now then when she first met him, she notes, and not quite so bulky.

He's cute.

"Dammit, Gabriella!" he yells in frustration, and he's raking a hand through his hair. It's shorter now than it was in high school, and Gabriella feels a sudden urge to rake her own hands through it, and grip it in her fists.

But again, that's not a good idea right now. He'd flip his shit.

"When did you take these ones?" he questions with a huff. He's practically flung himself across their bed, and he's sprawled out with his legs dangling over the edge and an arm is covering his eyes. He kind of reminds her of a beached whale, but she's definitely not going to tell him that.

"With the others." Lie.

He calls her out. "Liar."

"Whatever," she says with resign. She knows that it doesn't really matter what she says; he thinks he knows the situation, and there's no way she can talk him out of it. Stubborn little nitpick that he is.

"You're older," he speaks up, "in the second one."

"Barely," she responds. He ignores her, and his hand flips away from his face, and she watches him as he stares at the ceiling. She's not sure if he's avoiding looking at her, or if he just really happens to find the ceiling interesting. Maybe he's trying to picture what was going on when she took the pictures. Who was in the room with her.

"More than enough," he says, finally, and now he's sitting up with his weight resting on his elbows. She shakes her head because she really wasn't that much older in the second batch of photos, but if she keeps arguing with him on this point, they'll probably go full circle. And as much as she wants to defend her pride (what's left of it), she really doesn't want to end up on the couch tonight. God knows he won't resign himself to the living room (hey, it's his house too; his bed, his shower).

"Well, who's the douche?" he asks, and she's a little lost.

"Excuse me?"

"The ass-wipe that took the pictures," he clarifies. "Who - is - he?" She doesn't appreciate the condescending tone he uses with her, and when she tells him so and politely asks him to stop talking to her like she's a child, he just rolls his eyes, and repeats his question - word for word and in the same exact manor.

She stares at him, mildly amused. "No one," she says after an eternity of silence, and a short lived staring contest. "It's not important."

"It is," he disagrees. Gabriella clucks at him, because she'll be damned if she lets him patronize her.

"Troy," she whispers, beckoning him towards her with a curl of her finger. She's leaning against the desk chair in the corner of the room, and when he refuses to give, Gabriella stands to her full height and saunters over towards him. She debates yanking her shirt off, but given the circumstances, she drops her hands and lets her breath out through a resigned huff. She keeps her eyes on him as she advances, and suddenly she has an idea. Sex _always _distracts him, but she has a nagging suspicion that he's a little too pissed to be turned on right now.

So she'll take it slowly (seriously, she _had _to be a dominatrix in another life; why else would she think that _everything _can be solved by sex? She's fairly certain that she thinks about sex more than _he _does). "Listen." She keeps her voice quiet and bites her bottom lip, playing the charmer. Her hands are fiddling with the ratted hem of her ridiculously over sized tee-shirt - which is actually _his _shirt, and she makes a conscious effort to add just the most subtle _sway _to each step.

She pulls her hair from the ponytail (not that there was much hair left in it after that mornings earlier activities), and throws her head forward, shaking out the dirtied waves. When she looks up, their eyes meet and for the briefest of seconds, she thinks that she's got him.

Until he rolls his eyes and gets up from the bed, pushing past her. "No," he says, and she nearly pouts because he's being so ridiculous about this. She's not perfect, and neither is he, so she points this out to him. He turns on her with an angry scowl, but she ignores it and presses forward. She steps over a pile of soiled clothes, and forwards her advance. He's leaning against the dresser now with his arms crossed against his chest and a bemused expression riding his face.

He doesn't move away when she steps up to him, and he doesn't duck beneath her arms when she cages him in on either side. He just stares down at her, acknowledging her challenge, and greets her with a practiced look of indifference. Her hands are pressed palm to wood against the dresser just beside his shoulders, but she slips one hand away and gently closes the laptop screen with her finger.

"I'm a big girl, Troy," she says as she presses her body flush against his. He doesn't budge, he doesn't even twitch. He just watches her, his expression neutral. "I own this body, and I can make my own choices about what I do with it."

He doesn't say anything immediately, just rakes his eyes down the length of her body. Heat suddenly flares up in her cheeks, because she knows that she looks like a hot mess. Her panties are hanging half off one hip, and his tee-shirt doesn't hide _anything, _and her hair is snarled and tangled with she doesn't even want to know what. She's barefoot though, and she presses her toes against his, with good measure. The action serves no purpose, she just wants to see what he'll do.

He takes he bait, and suddenly his hands are gripping her waist. Her arms raise and she holds onto his shoulders, and she beams a grin at him. She's taken by surprise though, when he suddenly lifts her up (with no trouble at all), and swings her around until her back is pressed against the dresser. He's not gentle about it, and when he presses his chest against hers, she can feel the stupid little knobs digging into her back.

"Troy," she whines in his face, but he shuts her up by sealing her lips with his. The kiss isn't sweet, and it's not gentle at all. Still, she falls into him, and she pulls her thighs up and wraps her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles. He forces his hands between her back and the oak of the dresser, and suddenly she finds herself flying towards the bed. It's not made, and she crashes into the sheets like a child flies into a pile of leaves. She's about to protest, because she does _not _appreciate being manhandled in such a manor, but he's leaning over her, just _thisclose _to straddling her, and he hovers above her, temptingly.

His face isn't even an inch from hers, and when he exhales, she catches a whiff of his spearmint toothpaste. He stares into her eyes, and she's all but putty in his hands. The most wicked of grins tugs on the corners of his lips, and she _knows _what that grin means. She hates that grin.

He lowers his head so that his lips are just brushing the outer edge of her ear, and his breath makes her shiver. Her legs kick up and naturally go around his waist, grounding him to her. Her hand is buried deep in the roots of his hair, and she's practically clinging to him. She supposes that she must have made a pretty shitty dominatrix in her former life, if this is how easily she gives in. When he speaks, he startles her.

"This body," he says in a throaty voice as he slips a hand beneath her tee-shirt and languidly trails his finger down the valley between her breasts, "is made for my eyes only." She giggles, but he cuts her off with his lips when his head ducks down and he kisses the space just behind her ear lobe. It's a pleasure point for her, ridiculously sensitive, and he knows that. It's his weapon.

She doesn't resist his advances at first, and she lets him play with the hem of her shirt, because his lips are still attached to her skin. He slips his hands beneath her armpits, and with his mouth still latched onto her jaw, hauls her up until she feels her head landing on the fluff of her pillow. He climbs over her, and now he _is _straddling her. He plants his hands on either side of her head, and hunches his back as to keep his weight off of her. But it's only when he presses his chest against her tee-shirt clad one, that she feels comfortable.

They stare at each other, and she almost feels like she's drowning in the blue pools of his eyes. Almost. She starts laughing, because he flared his nostrils, and now its too late to stop herself. He looks annoyed and huffs angrily in her face, and then rolls off of her. She glances over at him, letting her head loll lazily, and she flips over onto her side. She giggles again, really for no reason at all, and her finger seems to take on its own personality when it snakes across the folds of the sheets and trails up his bicep, and traces the vein that's protruding.

They lay there in silence, and Gabriella is totally content with that. She scoots forward just the slightest, until she's half sprawled against his body. She flings a thigh over both of his, and tosses her arm across his chest. she glances up at him, and she can't even hide the admiration she feels. His hair is mused, and she reaches up and fingers the split ends. He needs a hair cut, but he's too lazy and "busy" so he won't get one.

His eyes are closed now, and she takes this second of silence to watch him. She realizes that he must have sensed her stalker tendency to stare at him (she does it all the time when he sleeps), because he cracks an eye open, and chuckles. She sits up a little, rolling onto her stomach and balances her weight on her elbows. Both of his eyes are open now, and they stare at each other until he rolls away with a chuckle.

She doesn't like this, and an irritated mewl escapes from her lips. She pushes her body closer to his, and reaches across his shoulders until she can pull him flat on his back. He rolls willingly, and she takes this opportunity to climb up over him. This time it's her who's riding cowboy, and she laughs when he clamps his hands onto her hips. She can feel his thumbs tracing asymmetrical patterns on her skin, and when he hooks his thumbs inside the string of her thong, she feels her stomach churn, because now she's getting excited.

One of his hands slip out from under her shirt, and she feels it on her lower back. He gently pushes, and she gets the hint, and lowers her chest so that she's hovering above him. He watches her through half lidded eyes, and she can't remember ever seeing such a beautiful person. She closes her eyes and presses her lips to his, but she whines into him when he stops tugging on her g-string.

He chuckles against her lips, but she pulls away because she doesn't know what's so funny. He just lays there, with a lazy smile etched on his face, and he's watching her like it's his business. She contemplates what to do, and without a second thought, tugs the tee-shirt over her head. She can feel his hands gripping her waist, and it's only once she's leaning into him that his hands begin to explore. She knows the feel of his hands; rough, and slightly calloused from years of handling a basketball, and yet when she runs her hands up the length of his arms, it's not lost to her that his skin is buttery smooth. He flexes his muscles, and she cups her hands around his triceps, pulling his arms up.

"Kiss me," she orders, her mouth hovering near his nose. He smiles, but complies, and uses his thumb and forefinger to tug her chin down until their mouths are level. They're laying skin to skin, the only clothing barrier between them being her thong, and his boxers. He doesn't attempt to take her thong off though, and she doesn't try to force him to. She's pretty freaking content, just they way are.

His breath is hot when it enters her mouth, and she inhales involuntarily. She can feel his hands ghosting across her body, exploring the familiar grooves. One hand is resting on her right ass-cheek, while the other is snaking up her rib, and he tickles the underside of her breast. She giggles, because his fingertips just barely touch her skin and it kind of tickles, but he makes a sound of indignation against her lips.

She braces her hands against his chest, covering each peck. His muscles are well defined, and she can feel both pecks twitch under her touch. She smiles into his kiss, because she likes having control over his body. She pushes herself up a little further, and tucks her knees in against his hips. He's narrow, so she feels a little awkward, but when she feels his fingers dip below her panty line, she doesn't notice anything else.

"God," he mutters as she pulls her lips away from his, scraping her teeth against his bottom lip, "you're so fucking beautiful."

Gabriella stares down at him, and throws her head to the side to rid her face of her hair. "So are you," she tells him. She rears back and grins, tucking her bottom lip in under her teeth. She knows what he wants, so she trails her finger down his chest, taking care to hit every well defined ab muscle on her way down. She circles his navel, and lowers her mouth to the thin trail of dark hair just beneath it, with her eyes never leaving his.

When Troy's hands lift from her back side, Gabriella stops her movements in protest. Troy grins, and suddenly both hands are back on her body, one tangling itself in the locks of her hair, while the other follows the bumps of her spine. "Keep going," he instructs, and when she's sure that he's not going to let go, she reattaches her lips to his skin. He's warm; unbearably so, and it kind of makes her uncomfortable. The air in the house is thick with heat and air conditioning, and it kind of smells like day old pot and cherry cigs. She cringes when a thought of her mother fleets across her mind, but quickly tunes her out. She doesn't need to know about any of this.

The hair just above his boxer line is course, and she clenches his hips when he bucks them up towards her. She laughs, and he's smiling so she knows this was his intention. "Keep going," he urges, and she obeys. His hand is gripping thick locks of her hair, and he pulls a little tighter each time she moves her lips. She dips one finger under the elastic band of his boxers, and she feels him tense beneath her. She swipes her finger across his skin, her eyes back on his.

"I love you," she tells him, despite the fact that he's near the edge. He looks down at her, confusion evident on his face but responds with the same, none the less. He drops his head back, and she recognizes this as his way of telling her that he doesn't want to talk right now, but she's kind of in a talkative mood. He glances at her when she clears her throat, and he doesn't look happy.

"Do you ever wonder what we're doing, here?" she questions, pausing her movements and resting her chin on his hip bone. He doesn't answer right away, and lets his head drop back in the pillow, and she guesses that he's counting himself down. She feels kind of bad, because she can feel how he's reacting to her, so she lazily tugs on his boxers until they inch their way down his hips. She traces the "V" that's so defined, but she's not satisfied.

"Troy," she presses. He sighs, heavily, but eventually he answers.

"What are you talking about?"

Gabriella sighs, and places her hands on either side of his thighs, and pushes herself up until she's sitting again. Troy's not pleased and hides his eyes beneath his arms, and groans, loudly. When Gabriella places her hand just above his semi, he flinches, and she smiles.

"Us," she repeats, waving her hands around in a gesture towards their room. "Here. Why are we here?"

Troy peeks at her through a space between his arms, and sighs again. "We've been over this before, Gabriella." He's using that condescending tone again, and she wishes that for just once, he'd hear her out. "It's break; we don't _have _to be doing anything."

Gabriella shakes her head, and her long waves fall over her shoulders, covering her exposed breasts. "Well that's my point," she argues, and when Troy rolls his eyes, she leans forward so that the hand resting near his midsection adds a little pressure. This action has the intended effect, because Troy tries to shift beneath her weight, and fixes himself through his boxers.

"We should be doing something," she says, "so that we can get out of here." It's not that the house is horrible, but she doesn't particularly like it. She'd much rather live in a posh apartment in downtown Los Angeles, or maybe even Pasadena, or maybe Santa Monica. She loves the pier, and she can't think of anything better than waking up to the site of the crashing waves every morning.

"I like it here," Troy argues. "It's secluded, and not that far from campus."

Gabriella shakes her head, and takes his cheeks in her palms. "No," she says, brushing her thumbs across the taut skin, wiping away the tiny beads of sweat. "You like living near a dealer."

Troy grins, because this is true. "Maybe," he says. "Yeah." It's not that they get high all the time; they don't. Troy never even does it in season, but sometimes, like now when the stress of life starts to build up, it's just nice to take the edge off, and mellow out for a bit. Gabriella herself used to be disgusted by the mere thought of smoking a joint, but somehow, Troy and Chad had managed to talk her into it. Call it peer pressure, call it life, whatever. It happened.

Troy's arms are propped behind his head now, and he's watching her with an unfamiliar intensity. Gabriella cocks her head and stares right back, their eyes locking. "What are you thinking about?" Gabriella questions, stilling her movements. Troy doesn't answer right away, just keeps giving her this curious expression. It kind of annoys her, so she directs her attention back to his semi. He flinches when she grips him through the thin material of his boxers, and Gabriella takes this as her cue to continue.

She grips the elastic band of his boxers, and tugs them further down his thighs. He reaches forward and grabs a hold of her hips, hauling her up so that he can regain movement of his legs. Gabriella uses this opportunity to rid his body of the offending clothing, and smiles when he drops her back onto his upper thighs.

"You've gotten really tan," she notes, running her hands over the smooth skin leading to his package.

"So have you," he comments, dropping back against the pillows. He lets out a breathy moan, and Gabriella smiles because she knows exactly how to get to him. They've been together for so long, that she knows all of his ticks, and she knows exactly how to use them.

She doesn't verbally respond though, because her lips are back on his skin. She doesn't think about what she's doing, because by now, it's just natural. She doesn't think about anything when she's doing her business, or at least, she can't remember anything that comes to mind. She does pick up on the light buzzing though, because it's near her ear. She waits for Troy to do something about it, but when he doesn't, she releases her grip on him, and glances around for a phone. She's sure that's what it is, and she's expecting a call from her mother soon.

Troy groans, and he points towards his thighs, but Gabriella pushes his hand away. The phone keeps buzzing, and the vibration is kind of getting to her. Troy snaps at her, and this pisses her off, so she backs up. Troy's up in a shot and his hands are on her upper arms, drawing her back down to him. The buzzing stops, so she allows him to guide her back down, although she's hesitant. She gathers him up in her hand, and he keeps his eyes on her so she can't look away. When the buzzing starts back up again, Troy lets out a string of impressive expletives.

She pops him from her mouth, and watches him with curiosity as he converses with whoever is on the phone. When he looks at her, he's close to pleading, so she slowly lowers her mouth and uses her tongue to gather the thin string of moisture that's pooled on the head of his penis.

From the other end of the line, she realizes that she can hear Chad's voice. It's not long after Troy answers the call that he swears at his friend with a cold, "Fuck you," and, "yeah whatever," before he hangs up. Gabriella stops again, but replaces her mouth with her fingers so that at least something is constant. She glances up at Troy, but he's struggling. One of his hands is back in her hair, and before she can ask what the hell went on, he's pushing her head back down. She obeys, because she's already gotten a taste of him and she can't turn back now, but she manages to ask who was calling.

"Chad," Troy huffs out. He inhales sharply when Gabriella moves her hand to gather his sack, and she squeezes to let him know that she wants more of an answer than that. She pumps him a bit, but she's determined to get what she wants out of him (both figuratively and literally), so she pauses her ministrations, mid-pump. Troy gets the hint, and mumbles something about Chad and the pictures, followed by "fuck" and "dick-wipe."

Gabriella ignores him, because she doesn't think it's as bad as he's making it sound. He's always be a drama queen. The air in the room is so thick, that it's starting to mess with her head. Her hormones are raging, and she's starting to lose her clear thought as she gives him dome, and she starts thinking about the ocean. It's only when Troy groans that she loses her train of thought, because her vision is starting to blur, and her throat is starting to ache, and her stomach is churning.

When it's all over, she lays sprawled out with her cheek resting on his right hip, with one of his hands still stuck in her hair. She gives him his mandatory post-orgasm breather, because she's got eight minutes before he's gone, but she's surprised when he removes his hand from her hair and pulls her up so that she's level with him. She gives him a once over, taking in the pool of sweat that's accumulated on his neck, and the tiny beads of water that rest on his long eyelashes. His eyes are half open, and a content smile is toying on his lips.

She smiles too, and closes the space between them, and presses her lips to his. He closes his eyes and allows her to cuddle up next to him, and she takes his arm and drapes it over her side. He pulls her closer and she buries her face in his armpit, and they stay like that until someone's practically banging down the door.

Troy shoots up, knocking Gabriella away from him in the process. She groans in frustration because she was just starting to fall asleep, and she really doesn't want any company right now. The banging gets louder and the paces between each kick gets shorter, so Troy slips out of bed and pulls on a pair of discarded basketball shorts, and tosses Gabriella her dress from the night before. She crinkles her nose, because she is _not _wearing a dress that she's already worn, so she to forces herself out of bed and runs to the closet.

Troy's at the other end of the house, and Gabriella can hear the squeak of the door when it opens, followed by the booming voice of Troy's best friend. She doesn't expect him to come up to their room, but just in case, she makes to setting the bed. She tosses the pile of dirty close into the hamper, and when she catches the sight of herself in the small wall mirror, she nearly shrieks with disdain.

She runs into the bathroom (literally runs), and gets to work on her hair. She tucks her head under the running faucet, and tries to comb her fingers through the tangles. It doesn't work that well, so she settles for some mousse and twists her hair up into a messy bun, right at the top of her head. She pushes her face towards the mirror, examining herself critically. Her pupils are still dilated, and she's not sure if it's from the doobies she smoked the night before, or from the sex afterward that kept her up all night, but she's kind of embarrassed.

She splashes cleanser on her face and shoves a toothbrush in her mouth, and manages to dab concealer under her eyes. She kind of wants to get out of the house, but she doesn't want to look like she just gave head, so she tries to make herself look presentable. So she decides that a little bit of makeup can't hurt, because she's almost always wearing it, and slabs a few layers of jet black mascara on her eyelashes, and slicks a coat of gloss over her swollen lips.

With a final nod in the mirror, she steps out of the bathroom, and cringes when she gets a whiff of the room. It smells like shit. Plain and simple. She ignores it though and closes the door behind her, and takes the stairs two at a time. When she gets to the bottom, she can already see Chad, who's back is to her, and a bored looking Troy, who's cradling a small box of something under his arm. It's only once she's standing directly behind Chad that she realizes Troy's got his hands on the box of the new wraps she'd sent out for; these sick rolls made of palm leaves and corn husks that taste like blueberries.

A smile lights up her face, and she dashes over to Troy, and snatches the box away from him. Chad rolls his eyes, but continues his conversation with Troy. As Gabriella retreats back towards their bedroom, she catches a, "she's such a overly-controlling stupid bitch" from Chad, and a chuckle from Troy. She makes a mental note to talk to him later, because he does not need to be encouraging Chad's issues with his ex.

When she comes back out after safely hiding the box of wraps with the other tools for the trade, both boys are sprawled out along the length of their sofa, and Gabriella falls onto Troy's lap. He catches her, and she ignores the snappy words of protest from Chad and snatches up Troy's Xbox controller. She hates the game that they're playing, but she doesn't really care right now.

"Let's go somewhere," she suggests absently as she aims the controller and lets out a string of bullets. She doesn't care where they go; she's just trying to hit something.

"It's too hot out," Troy says as he shifts her off of his lap. She flings her legs back over his thighs, because she still wants to be touching him, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. His head falls back against the couch, but he jumps when Chad starts yelling obscene things at the television screen.

"Let's go to the pier," she suggests, trying again. It's too nice out to stay inside, she's decided after a glimpse out of their large living room window, and she hasn't stepped foot outside the house in almost three days. "I need some fresh air."

"Hey Gabs, good news; there's a thing called a door, and on the other side of it is _air,_" Chad offers and juts a finger towards the kitchen. Gabriella ignores him, but Troy aims a punch at Chad's shoulder.

"Whatever," Troy says as he carefully slips his arms under Gabriella's knees and lifts her up, and turns around to place her back on the couch. "I need a new pipe, so, let's head down to the pier." This convinces Chad, and though he still protests, it's weak and he agrees to come.

"You could make your own," Chad suggests as he follows the couple out. Troy shakes his head and heads for his car, and unlocks the door. It's no more than five seconds after Chad slips in the back seat when he starts bitching to Troy about how ridiculous it is that their car smells like sex, too. "Seriously," he whines, "is there anywhere that you guys haven't gone at it?"

Gabriella ignores him and cranks the air conditioning. The car is so warm that it's suffocating, and even though she hates to admit it, the inside smells like complete shit. The car is quiet for a moment, and then Chad breaks the silence with a smart ass comment that has Gabriella wielding back and balling her fists.

"Well, never mind," he starts, and Gabriella can practically hear the smirk in his voice, "Gabriella's already answered that question." Troy slams on the brakes, hard, and Gabriella's trying to reach Chad from her position in the front.

"Come on, man," Troy whines and pinches the bridge of his nose. "What the fuck?"

Chad though, is completely unapologetic. "Just sayin', bro." He holds his hands up in defense, but he can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. "The proof is in the pic."

Gabriella narrows her eyes, and makes a grab for Chad's cell phone. He snatches it away from her hand though, and grins the most wicked grin she's ever seen. "Ah uh," he tuts, wagging a finger back and forth. "It's already gone viral. Doesn't matter whether you get my phone or not."

Gabriella hears Troy mutter a soft, "Shit!" while Chad starts giggling. _Giggling. _Gabriella shoots him a glare, because she can find nothing funny at all about the situation. She gives up shortly though, and turns around, her arms crossed angrily against her chest. No one says anything for a while, and Gabriella decides that this is probably for the best. She and Troy still haven't talked about the pictures, and she can only imagine who's seen it by now, and what they're saying.

"Hey Hoops, stop at 7-11," Chad all but commands, and Troy does as he's told. They amble out, and Gabriella makes sure to slam her door just as Chad sticks his head out of the car, and she stalks inside. Troy catches her waist as she yanks open the door, and he wraps his arm fully around her hips, and pulls her back against his chest. Even though he doesn't say anything immediately, she knows that his mouth is near her ear because she can hear him inhale through his nose.

"Ignore him," he whispers, and Gabriella does just that. She follows Chad as he stalks down the aisle, looking for the Big Gulp machine. Troy is still attached to her, and she grins to herself when she spots a big-boobed, dye-job blond staring at them (staring at Troy, really), and Gabriella makes a show of spinning in her boyfriend's arms and smacking her lips to his. She divulges in what she considers a pre-makeout session, and only allows them to separate when she hears wanna-be-Barbie's heels clicking away.

Troy doesn't say anything, but Gabriella can tell by the incredulous smile that he recognized her little show as an act of possessiveness - not so much time altering love (though they aren't missing that, either. They're just past that stage in their relationship).

"What the hell?" She hears Chad curse when they near, and she finds him staring between the racks of cups at the Big Gulp station. "The sizes changed," he tells them, even though neither have asked.

"So?" Gabriella says, because she doesn't see what the big deal is. The Big Gulp is still pretty freaking big.

"So," Chad mimics, "the price is the same. They downsized the cups, but they're still charging the same price."

Gabriella rolls her eyes, because this is all so trivial. She's kind of annoyed that Chad's tagged along. She understands that he and Troy are best friends, and that he's leaving for Albuquerque in less than four days, but he's really hinging her style. He's been all over Troy more than _she _has.

"Then don't buy it," she says dryly. If Chad heard her comment, he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he waves them away as he continues his internal battle over whether or not he should punish the 7-11 people by not purchasing their product, or if it's really worth depriving himself of the best creation on earth, because he's _really fucking thirsty. _

She contemplates advising him to stop with the overeating of his beloved chips then, but she realizes that would be a stupid comment because he has no control over the munchies (they _are _called "the munchies" for a reason, after all).

"Come on." Gabriella tugs on Troy's arm and pulls him away from Chad, letting him battle solo. She knows exactly where's she's going, and when Troy snorts, she knows that he's figured it out too.

They wait in line, and she searches for any sign of a honey dutch, but the stupid cashier keeps getting in the way. "Maybe they don't have them," she says quietly to Troy, who simply shrugs. "Maybe I'll get some cigarettes instead."

Troy shakes his head and pulls her in front of him, then pulls her backwards until their bodies are pressed together. "Don't," he says, equally quiet. "You should stop." Then, after a moment, he adds, "We should stop. This stuff isn't good for us."

Gabriella shrugs, not sold on the idea. "You said it before, Troy," she looks up at him, "we don't do it that often. It's fine." Troy still disagrees and shakes his head, trying to convince her otherwise.

"We still do it too much, I think."

Gabriella doesn't care. They only do it while on break, and she's not going to stop now that he's suddenly developing a conscience. "Well then I'll get a pack of those light tar cigarettes," she suggests, compromising.

"Why?" Troy questions. "There's no difference between those and the regular brands, except the price." He gives her this look, akin to the look she thinks he'd give a crazy person. "It's all just an advertising gimmick, made up by the tobacco companies to get you to spend more money." He's smiling though, so Gabriella doesn't feel so foolish.

"Let's just get out of here," he suggests, and Gabriella is quick to agree. She tugs on his arm, making for the door, but he stops her.

"Forgetting something?" Troy questions.

"No... they're out of dutches, I think, and we've got enough crap at home," Gabriella says.

Troy laughs and shakes his head, then gestures towards the back of the store. The realization dawns on her, and Gabriella sighs dramatically. "Why can't we just leave him here?" She sticks out her lower lip and tilts her head back, and when Troy's eyes land on hers, she bats her eyelashes relentlessly.

"Come on," Troy says, and he wraps his fingers around her wrist and tugs her to the back of the store. Chad meets them halfway down, a Big Gulp in hand and a smile on his face. He shakes his head and holds up a hand, and pushes them apart, stepping right between them.

"I'm still pissed," he warns, "but this _is _Cali."

Troy and Gabriella glance at each other, and Troy just shakes his head. He slaps a hand on Chad's shoulder and nods towards the door. "We'll meet you outside, man," Troy tells him. He doesn't wait for a response though, and within a few seconds, he's stepping past Chad with Gabriella in tow. They don't say anything as they head back to the car, but Troy opens the door for Gabriella, because he's a gentleman.

He steps around to the driver's side and slips in, and lets the door close on its own. He starts the ignition, to roll the air conditioning because it's fucking hot, and they sit in a silence that leaves Gabriella weirded out. Troy's slipped on his favorite pair of Ray Bans (which _she _just so happened to have bought him for his birthday when they moved out to Cali), so she's not really sure where he's looking; she only knows that he's avoiding her.

"Are we going to talk about this?" she questions, suddenly finding the holes in her denim skirt interesting. Troy doesn't look over at her though, but she doesn't get the feeling that he's angry with her. Not yet anyway.

"About what?" She knows that he's well aware of what she's referring to.

"You know what I'm talking about, Troy," she says, warning him. She's in no mood for the games right now, and she wants to get this over with before Chad gets back out. "Those pictures."

Troy tenses, and Gabriella keeps her eyes trained on him. Still, he doesn't look at her, and just rakes his hand through his hair, which has gotten blonder with the help of the sun. She realizes with a startling clarity, that Troy embodies a surfer. He's even wearing a surfing tee-shirt, and he just looks so... Californian.

"We shouldn't talk about it now," he responds, shortly, and nods towards her. She realizes that he's making a gesture towards her window, where Chad is making a beeline right for the car. Gabriella shuts up, because for once, Troy's right. This isn't Chad's business, and though they're fine, he's still _Troy's _best friend; he's not _her _best friend, and her words hold little meaning to him. So she turns on the stereo and surfs through the stations until she finds Top 40, and then cranks the volume.

"How's that Big Gulp?" Troy questions as he glances over his shoulder at his friend. Gabriella keeps her eyes on Troy though, and tunes out Chad completely, because she's seeing Troy again, differently than she's seen him the last few days. Maybe it's the light, or his clothing, or the ridiculous amount of blond that streaks through his hair, but he looks like a completely different person. His jaw line has evened out, while his cheek bones have become more defined, and his nose isn't so bulgy. His eyes are still the most beautiful shade of blue though, and for that Gabriella is completely thankful. She hopes his eyes never change, because she can find out all she needs to know through them.

The pier is fairly crowded, but it's still early. She threw on a bikini under her clothing when she was getting dressed, because she was thinking about forcing Troy to take her to a water park or _something, _so she's not worried about getting wet. Not that she'd have a problem going in her intimates; she doesn't have a problem with it at all, but it's the other people there that she figures might have a problem.

Troy and Chad are walking along beside her, chatting about something that she doesn't really care about. She's thinking about the pictures again, because the reality just hit her; there's pictures of her a la nude, floating around on the internet. She doesn't know how they got there, and honestly, she doesn't even remember taking them. She's never been particularly shy with her body, so showcasing it was never a huge thing for her.

But Troy was right; nobody else should be able to see her goods but him, and herself. She racks her brain, trying to figure out who she'd sent the pictures too, but prior to her transfer to East High, she'd been a bit... promiscuous.

"Let's hit the waves," Chad suggests as they follow the cement trail lining the beach. Gabriella doesn't protest, because she's thinking that maybe this would be a good time for Troy to give her another surf lesson. He's tried to school her at least a handful of times since they moved out to California for college almost three years ago, but she just can't seem to pick it up. Troy though, he's become a natural.

"D'you have you have money on you?" she questions Troy.

He pats his back pocket and returns her question with a nod, and lazily reaches out to her. She grabs his hand as it comes around her neck and she laces their fingers, and she wraps her other arm around his waist. He's so narrow and she thinks that it's so not fair, because she has to work _hard _to keep her own waist slim.

"Wanna surf?" she questions.

Troy nods and guides her towards a small surf shop, one of many lining the pier. "We'll just get one," he tells her as he glances over the surfboards. She's fine with that because they have their own boards and wax at home, but she hadn't left with the intention of wave riding.

Chad separates and does his own thing, though he hovers not too far from Troy at any given time. Gabriella sees a flock of slutty looking females with barely-covered asses and bouncing tits clinging to him, so she lets him do his own thing. Troy pushes the board onto the sand and drops to his knees beside it, and gestures for Gabriella to copy his actions. He's got a bar of clear wax in his hand, and Gabriella watches him with interest when he begins to polish tiny circles of wax onto the board. His muscles are ripped and they glisten with sweat under the sunlight, and Gabriella scoots closer to him.

"So when did you take them?" When Troy speaks, he startles her because she was enjoying the quiet between them. The waves lapping against the sand provide a steady background for her thoughts, and she thinks that this would almost be the perfect place to come and mellow out.

Except for the fact that the beach is flooded with shoobies and children are running around like crazy savage animals. "Um, I can't remember," she tells him, because she really can't. He snorts and shoots her a look that tells her that in no way does he believe her.

"Sixteen," she admits, because she really does think that there's a pretty good chance that she took them on her sweet 16th.

Troy won't look at her now, but he shakes his head and works to unclench his jaw. "Not the new ones."

Gabriella shrugs and sinks back onto her heels, she lets her head fall back so that she's looking up at clear blue sky. "Seventeen, maybe."

"How can you not know?" Troy is staring right at her, and even though she can't see his eyes through his sunglasses, she is relieved to see that he's not angry. Just incredulous. "Seriously, did you take so many that no one time sticks out?" He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the board.

"No," she answers, timidly, because now he's made her shrink in on herself. "I did it for my boyfriend."

Troy glances up at her, and his eyebrows are burrowed and hidden beneath his glasses. "More than one?" His voice is quiet, and she can sense a nervous undertone.

"It's not important," she says quietly. Troy chucks the bar of wax onto the sand and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His hands are buried in his hair, and when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he shrugs her off.

"Dammit, Gabriella," he repeats his earlier sentiment, though this time his voice is so low that she strains to hear him. "It's important to _me."_

Gabriella doesn't say anything, but she's sure as hell racking her brain for something to comfort him with. But the reality is that she's a free female, and she can and will do whatever she wants to do. If she wants to take pictures of herself, then she has the right to do that; and since she and Troy weren't together when the pictures were taken, he has no right to be angry with her.

"I just don't understand why you'd do it," Troy speaks up again.

Gabriella shrugs and folds her leg beneath her, pretzel style. "Because I wanted to." It's as simple as that. Troy's head shoots up and his lips are pursed into a thin, straight line. She's about to tell him that he shouldn't be angry because she hasn't gone searching through his sexual history, but when he lets out an incredulous laugh and shoots up off the sand, she finds herself at a loss for words. He scoops the board up and runs towards the water, leaving her startled in his wake.

She would chase after him, but they only have one board, so she's resigned to the sand until he's cooled off enough that he thinks they can talk again. Gabriella tries to plan her defense, but at some level, she doesn't think that she should even have to defend her actions. She was young and stupid, but they weren't together until just after the second batch of pictures were taken. She knows that she took them just before moving to Albuquerque, but she still thinks it shouldn't matter. Some stupid prick decided to leak them on Facebook, and even though she had them removed, the damage had been done.

She watches as Troy paddles out to the pipe, timing himself for the wave. The water is spotted with surfers, and after a while they all start to blend together and she can't single out Troy. The heat is at full intensity, where it seems to fall from the sky in waves in certain spots if you stare long enough. The sky is cloudless, and Gabriella wishes that maybe just one would float by, and offer some reprieve. The sand burns her skin, but she doesn't want to move. So instead, she keeps her eyes out on the horizon and finds that if she blinks enough, Troy reappears. He's coasting a wave now, still riding back on his haunches as he tries to gain his balance.

The next time she looks up he's surfing through the swell, and Gabriella's breath is taken away. He looks so calm out there, incredibly smooth. His legs are parted and she thinks she can make out one hand tucked into the water, streaking a trail of froth behind him. He rides out the majority of the wave, only knocking himself off the board and into the water shortly before the wave dies out. She waits for him to pop up from beneath the wave, and for a second or two, she sucks in her breath because there's always the threat that he won't pop back up.

He does though, so she lets her breath out, but Gabriella doesn't feel any better. Troy paddles towards the shore, but stops midway and turns the board around, and then paddles back out to the pipe line. Maybe for today, the conversation is over.

... ... ...

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A/N: Well, a bit on the long side, yes. I wrote this for myself, initially, just to write, but I love it so much that I just had to add it to my archive. It started off as something completely different, and then thoughts of Zanessa rumors I've heard, and pictures I've seen inspired different parts of the story. Anyway, if you enjoyed this story, I'd really appreciate a review. I don't know if there's a better way to let an author know that you loved their story (or whatever you feel) than to tell them.

Hope you enjoyed!


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